Of Bicentennials and Impressment
by RayneXHatake
Summary: The scars from a war of hate only fade with time and love. And for Alfred, 200 years had passed entirely too soon. With Louisiana's bicentennial approaching and tensions with Arthur reaching a breaking point, Alfred relives painful memories as his son asks after his story of 1812, the story not told in the history books. Mpreg! World/US! War of 1812!
1. Chapter 1

Prompt: One of the original thirteen states, who are England and America's kids, is among the sailors forced into service in the British navy during the years before the War of 1812. England accidentally finds out and has to deal. This doesn't help his already messed-up relationship with America at all.

Bonus: The state in question is Massachusetts. England is really tempted to just let him suffer for awhile.

I saw this prompt months' ago on the hetalia kink meme and I knew I wanted to do it, but the kink meme confuses me. So instead of being an anon, I have no shame in filling it here. Being from Louisiana and being a history major I'm in absolute love with the whole year of 1812. Between the state of Louisiana being 'born' and the War of 1812, it's like my favorite year. I'm going to focus more on the War of 1812 and the impressment aspect, but I will have Louisiana and his history there, a lot.

Really, this is my first Hetalia story and I'm writing it to deal with getting my muse back for my Naruto stories. Mostly, this is a way of saying 'Hey, I'm not dead" for my readers.

Please, don't be gentle in your reviews, I want honesty. I want to be a writer and write historical fiction. This is my drawing board and I want to see if I'm any good at this area.

Notes: LSU = Louisiana State University

Happy Readings!

* * *

Chapter 1: A Birthday is Reached

* * *

"_Good morning Baton Rouge! This is KLSU 91.1 bringing you the music that you want to listen to! Rise and shine my lovely Tigers because this glorious Monday morning is the Monday before finals. You all know what that means, time to set up camp in Club Middleton and get your sacrifices ready for the study gods_!"

"_DJ Brad, why don't you rally the troops? Alma mater anyone?"_

"_Where stately oaks and broad magnolias shade inspiring halls blah..blah..blah…."_

Alfred F. Jones found himself chuckling underneath his breath as the disc jockey bellowed out the first few words of the state school's alma mater before quickly tapering off into over exaggerated noises that _sort of_ sounded like they could be words. The other people in the studio were not as generous at hiding their amusement, some even outright laughing at the DJ's flubbed attempt.

"_Oh come on guys, no one actually knows LSU's alma mater beyond the first few words and the end_."

Straining his ears, Alfred could hear another person in the background loudly proclaiming he could before belting out the complete version for everyone to hear. Alfred could almost hear the DJ roll his eyes as the other man finished up with the only part that everyone could honestly say they knew.

".._forever, L-S-U_!"

Sarcastic slow clapping could be heard from DJ Brad as loud cheers went up. It really did put a smile on Alfred's face to hear his people simply enjoying life in any way they could, even if it was annoying each other at eight o'clock in the morning.

"_And that rendition of the alma mater, my fellow Tigers, was brought to you by that one student that always messes up the curve for those tests."_

More laughter poured through Alfred's radio speakers as the other man yelped indignation.

"_I'm kidding Jimmy, but seriously, to all my Tigers out there getting ready for Dead Week I wish you good luck. Don't let your dreams die in Lockett and don't get lost in Ceba. I'll catch you back here in…"_

With a swift flick of his wrist, Alfred turned off the radio in his old, blue '89 Dodge Ram pickup and kept truckin' down Nicholson Drive with his driver's side window rolled down. The air conditioner in this particular truck has been broken since '99, but he couldn't stand to fix it. There was just something so exhilarating about driving in the South with the windows rolled down and the radio turned down low.

It made him feel close to a place he rarely got to visit. Alfred loved the South. There was really no particular reason for why he loved the South. It was no better than any other part of his country, nor did it offer him anything more than any other part of his country.

In all honesty, if anything, he should be uncomfortable in the South. The South clung to those old ways even with the modern age.

Children were still taught to say 'yes ma'am' and 'no ma'am' or 'yes sir' and 'no sir'. Boys still had gentlemanly ideals smacked into their heads, the ever important 'don't hit girls' and 'pull out your grandma's chair for her' yelled into their ears as busy mothers juggled jobs and housework. Girls were still instructed to act like the ladies their grandmothers were and to never compromise their 'reputation'. Elders were to be respected and God save your ass if Mama or Daddy found out you back sassed your teacher during school because as soon as you got home, that ass was going to be 'redder than a fire truck'.

They were the infamous 'Red States', those states that nearly always voted Republican and clung to their party ties like a life line. They stubbornly clung to their Bibles and their guns, loudly and proudly citing the Bill of Rights. Ready to fight down anyone that stood in their way.

They were the states that broke away from him all those many years ago in 1861. They were the ones that broke his heart as they called him a tyrant when he tried to do something about the slavery issue. They were the states that still had an underbelly of festering racism on both spectrums of the race card.

Alfred F. Jones, with his own personal vendetta against those who lived in the past, should have been more than happy to never set foot in those areas.

Those were the states that other parts of the country made fun of.

They were the states that should have embarrassed him.

They were the states that simply could not 'get with the program'.

Except, for all the drama and conflict, the South was special.

They may have had a hard time accepting the changing times, but the sense of community and family there was unlike any other. Differences didn't matter over a good pot of gumbo nor in the face of disaster. When tornadoes or hurricanes tear apart entire communities, neighbors make an effort to help each other out. Not to mention the whole 'Southern Hospitality" wasn't a myth.

The South was just different and Alfred had no conscious reason why he felt that way and often he felt like he didn't need a reason for his feelings. If he had to guess though, it would be because the South reminded him of those early days with Arthur, and it was something he treasured.

The North may run the country, but the South made it a place that people enjoyed coming to.

_Buzz….buzz….buzz…buzz…buzz_

The sound of Alfred's phone vibrating snapped his attention right back out of his thoughts. Rubbing a hand across his face, Alfred took a few minutes to wake himself up before reaching over into the backpack he brought and snatching his Blackberry Torch up. One look at the caller id showed Arthur's scowling picture. It only took a few minutes for Alfred to remember that he forgot to cancel his meetings with the other nation.

"Crap."

The phone buzzed in his right hand once more before Alfred took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and pushed the answer button.

"United States of America speaking, how may I..."

"Please, Alfred, explain to me why I arrived at our 8 a.m. meeting only to find that you're not here?"

Alfred scrunched his nose up at the absolutely pissed off tone the other was taking with him. He loved Arthur, he truly did, but sometimes the man was simple frustrating. Maneuvering his Blackberry into his left hand, Alfred sighed into the phone.

"I'm in Baton Rouge, Arty."

The other man scoffed, "Baton Rouge? Why are you in Louisiana? We have a meeting today, a very important one too."

"You do know that today's April 30th." Alfred frowned at the sudden silence, "Arthur, today's J.P's birthday and you know I never miss one of my kid's birthdays, especially not one as important as a bicentennial. A meeting today or any day during this next week isn't happening."

"Alfred," Arthur started wearily, "I know you have been having a tough year, we all have, and I know you like to reconnect with your children during their birthdays, but we need to discuss this. Especially with what's happening in Syria…"

"Arthur, please, just let me have my week. I'll be back soon."

"You have obligations that must be fulfilled in D.C. You can't run off just because…"

Alfred didn't hear the rest of Arthur's sentence. He ended the call before the other man made him break his phone out of anger. The man was as frustrating as his politicians were. He could already feel a headache starting to brew beneath the lenses of Texas.

He and Arthur had a complicated relationship. They weren't exactly dating, but they definitely had some kind of romantic relationship.

_Buzz….buzz…buzz….buzz…buzz_

Alfred sighed in frustration as he reached over and turned his phone off. He wasn't going to let Arthur ruin his good mood. Sure, he'd been driving for hours, but it was his son's birthday. His little Jean-Pierre Francis Jones was 200-years-old today and Alfred was determined to spend the entire week with his attention solely on his son. He so very rarely got to stay with his children long because of his obligations in D.C., so birthday weeks were always an excuse for him to drop everything and pay special attention to the birthday boy or girl. Plus, birthday weeks always ended with a huge family party so it was like a big family reunion and in these tough times Alfred needed his children to ground him.

It really did seem surreal to think about how old his son was now. Yeah, he had forty-nine other children and they had lived a long time, but it never ceased to amaze Alfred how quickly they went from relying fully on him to checking in every once in a while.

It made him understand those mothers in the grocery checkout lines that bemoaned how fast their babies were growing.

Originally he'd wanted to surprise J.P with a birthday breakfast, but he hadn't left D.C. in time and J.P. had an early meeting with his governor. It was disappointing for him, but he was determined to make it up later. He supposed he should have taken a plane and would have gotten to Louisiana with plenty of time to spare, but flying across his states just wasn't the same as driving across. Now he was forced to wait at J.P's house on Highland Road until he could meet his son for lunch.

With a smile on his face and the ominous looking Tiger Stadium to his left, Alfred continued down Nicholson Drive.

* * *

J.P. lived on the good side of Highland.

Sounded horrible to say it that way, but it was the truth. LSU campus divided Highland Road, and essentially Baton Rouge, into two areas.

The north side of Highland Road was a strange blend of college life and low income housing. He hated to say it, but the north side was the ghetto. LSU and her students were slowing pushing into the area, breaking that invisible line between the classes.

The south side of Highland Road was home to the sprawling mansion-like houses and gated communities of the upper middle class. Here it seemed that the houses were suspended in time, retaining glory from the antebellum years.

His son lived only a few miles south of campus on Highland Road in a house that had been built years before LSU ever existed. It wasn't a large house, nor was it particularly as grand as the other houses surrounding it, but it was back away from the main road and offered a lot of privacy for the young state.

Pulling up to the gated driveway, Alfred quickly tapped the ten digit code into the security box and waited as the old gate creaked open. Slowly, he drove down the winding driveway before parking his truck underneath a tree covered in Spanish moss.

He sat there for a few minutes underneath the old tree and breathed in the scent of the grounds. The zesty smell of spices filled the air, burning his nose. It was crawfish season and every house down Highland seemed to be saturated in the tasty blend of cayenne pepper and salt. Underneath the strong smell, though, was the sweet smell of the wild flowers growing along the path leading up to the house. The sweet smell of Louisiana phlox and the harsh Cajun spice blend created a scent that was truly Louisianan. It was so different from the streets of his capitol and brought him back to warm summers on the banks of the Mississippi River.

Alfred sat there in his truck for only a few minutes more before reaching over to snatch up his phone and the pack holding his clothes. He didn't even bother locking his truck door as he exited the truck and bounded up the stairs with his pack on his right shoulder.

It wasn't until he was in front of the sturdy oak door that Alfred remembered he didn't have a key. Groaning, he took out his phone, turned it on, and punched in J.P.'s number. His son answered it on the third ring.

"Daddy? Did ya finally get in?"

Alfred nearly giggled. J.P.'s accent was thick on certain words and 'daddy' always came out as 'dahhday'.

"Yep, kiddo, just made it in, but I've got a problem."

Rustling of paper could be heard over the phone and a distant voice telling J.P. that he was wanted back in the meeting. Alfred could hear his son telling them he'd be right back.

"Sorry Dad, what's wrong?"

Sheepishly, Alfred scratched his head as he leaned against his son's front door. "I need a key."

J.P. laughed, "The spare's underneath the mat." Reaching down, Alfred found the key with a loud, exaggerated "eureka" as J.P. laughed in his ear. "Ya found it?"

"Yep! Thanks J.P. You get back to your meeting and we'll meet for lunch, okay?"

"Sure! I'll text you later."

After ending the call, Alfred unlocked the door and pushed into the house. Without the thick door in front of him, Alfred could hear that the radio was on in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Lil' Wayne droned on above him, that raspy voice painting a picture of hardship and shamelessly sending shivers down Alfred's spine. He chuckled quietly to himself as he followed the music into J.P's bedroom and turned off the radio. Rap music wasn't exactly a favorite of his, but it was a part of him and because one of his people made it, he would love it.

Of course, his states tended to favor those from their own cities and no one could say that the state of Louisiana hadn't been home to some of the best musicians in the industry. From rap and hip-hop to jazz and pop, the people of Louisiana lived for their music.

J.P was no different. He had loved music as a baby. Whenever Alfred had needed to get his son to sleep all he had to do was sing and J.P. would fall fast asleep. Even when his baby was wide awake and playful, he would sing to him just to see those bright blue eyes light up in excitement.

Alfred would have been content to stand in the middle of his son's bedroom and remember, especially with the walls artfully covered in a strange blend of old posters and paintings, but the sound of his phone buzzing impatiently in his pocket drew his attention away. Sighing to himself, Alfred dug his phone out of his pocket and answered it without checking the caller id, just knowing the caller was Arthur.

"Look, Arty, I'm sorry."

"Angleterre? Sorry to disappoint, Alfred."

The unmistakably lithe and lyrical voice of Francis Bonnefoy filled the American's ear. Nostalgia filled Alfred nearly instantly as he remembered the first few weeks after J.P was born. He remembered how Francis stayed in Washington D.C. with him and helped take care of his newborn son. Alfred hated to admit it, but Francis had a way with children, especially his own.

More so than Arthur did, at least. Favorites, he remembered, Arthur liked to play favorites.

"Alfred? Are you there?"

Shaking himself from his stupor, Alfred nodded before realizing the other man could not see him. He cleared his throat twice before forcing out an awkward laugh.

"Yeah, I'm here. How are you?"

Silence prevailed over the line before a light laugh filled Alfred's ear. "Mon ami, I am excellent. How are you?"

Sighing to himself, Alfred cradled the phone in his right hand as he walked out of J.P's room and to the sunny sitting room on the first floor. "I'm just tired. I drove all night and most of the morning to get to Baton Rouge."

France hummed happily, "Yes, the exact reason I called. My Jean-Pierre is two hundred years old today!" The other man laughed again, a little louder this time and more excitable as he slipped into French. "Mon fils a deux cent ans aujourd'hui!"

Alfred grinned despite himself as he scoffed at Francis. "I hope you're alone or people are going to think you're crazy."

The laughter spilling from the phone was enough to tell Alfred that Francis really didn't care. "Let them think what they want! My first born son is celebrating a bicentennial! C'est merveileux! It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny baby in my arms. Oh, how I miss those days!"

Alfred closed his eyes as he silently agreed with Francis. He missed the days when his kids were little, even if J.P. was born during a turbulent time, he missed holding his babies. Speaking of turbulent, he better calm down the other nation if he didn't want Francis to excite himself into a memory induced frenzy.

"Francis, jeeze, calm down. What did ya call for anyway?"

Alfred had interrupted Francis while the man was blabbering in French about infant J.P's little toes and blond curls. The question silenced the man instantly. Francis sighed into the phone; it was a long, weary sound. Something Alfred hadn't heard from the man since the aftermath of World War II.

"Alfred, mon cher, Jean-Pierre called me earlier this week and asked about 1812. You never told him the story of his birth?"

Alfred shrugged. The action made him feel better even if Francis couldn't see him. "It just never came up. He's never asked me about it."

"Well, he asked me about it. He said he didn't want to bring up any bad memories for you. Apparently he's under the impression that 1812 was a bad year."

"Well," Alfred reasoned, "1812 wasn't exactly a walk in the park. You do remember it, don't you?"

Francis sighed again, "Of course I remember 1812. Your pregnancy with Louisiana had been harder than the previous ones and of course, we can't forget the trouble between you and Arthur during that time."

Alfred snorted, "Trouble isn't the right word for our relations during that time."

Francis was silent for a few beats before speaking. "Alfred, Jean-Pierre said some of his older siblings suggested he not bring up 1812." The older nation murmured underneath his breath in quick French before continuing. "Is 1812 an emotional trigger for you? I know Arthur did a few unspeakable things during 1812, but was it really that horrible? Aren't you two sort of, oh what's the phrase, oh yes, fuck buddies? You can't deny that you've always loved him."

Alfred didn't answer Francis, nor did he even give the other man's questions a single thought. It brought out too many feelings that he wanted buried deep inside his soul. He and Arthur would never work, no matter how much he wanted them to work. "I've got to go Francis. See you at J.P's birthday party this weekend."

"Alfred, do not hang up on me!"

The line went silent as Alfred ended the call and stretched out across the couch in the sitting room. He let the memories of 1812 wash over him for only a few minute before shaking his head and going to find his backpack. He had paperwork to do.

* * *

Around eleven o'clock Alfred's phone buzzed twice. Arthur had long since stopped calling, his last voicemail dressing down Alfred in every way possible, and Francis had left him one sappy voicemail before promising he'd leave the other nation alone, so the buzz obviously wasn't either of the nations. Dropping the stack of papers he was reading onto the little end table, Alfred snatched up his phone to see a text message.

_From J.P_

_Meet me at Cane's for lunch?_

Cane's did sound like a good idea. Raising Cane's was a chicken finger fast food restaurant that got started right in Baton Rouge, right off LSU campus if he remembered correctly. Their chicken fingers were amazing, but the real specialty was the sauce. Oh god was that sauce to die for.

Quickly he texted back a simple 'yes' before asking which one. Baton Rouge was home to several Raising Cane's restaurants, he knew of five just in an immediate ten mile radius. A few seconds later his phone buzzed again.

_From J.P_

_The one off Highland, right off campus._

Sending back a quick "See you there", Alfred neatly stacked his papers together before snatching up his keys from the hook on the wall and heading out the door.

* * *

It didn't take long for Alfred to make it to the particular Cane's that he was meeting J.P. at. His son lived within walking distance of LSU campus and traffic on Highland only got bad around 4:30 in the evening when the university closed for the day. In fact, he only had to stop once when a female student walked right out in front of his truck and then had the nerve to glare at him.

Sometimes his people really did live up to their asshole reputation.

Shaking his head at the thought, Alfred walked up the ramp that led into the small restaurant. It was fairly crowded with college students brandishing school ids and playing on their smartphones, but it only took Alfred minutes to find his 18th son.

Jean-Pierre was sitting in a booth along a wall covered with pictures from the university's history. Well, sitting wasn't exactly what the boy was doing; lounging against the wall with his feet spread out in front of him across the booth was more like it. He's inherited Alfred's own height, so his long legs were hanging off the end of the booth. He also wasn't paying anyone around him any attention. All of his attention was on the phone conversation he was having.

It was in that moment that Alfred really saw Francis in his son. It was in the somehow elegant way his son carried himself even when he was dressed in a crumpled dress shirt and blue jeans and slouched against a dirty brick wall.

"Well, I think ya're a bastard and can take your stinkin' fireworks and shove them up your ass."

Alfred snorted, as much as J.P. reminded him of Francis, there was always so much more that reminded his son of himself.

"George, George, George, listen to me for five minutes! I'm not agreein' to that. Fuck no! George, ya cannot come down here and go alligator huntin'. What do you mean why not? Fuck you! We don't all live on the swamp."

The boy groaned and closed his eyes in frustration. Alfred chuckled to himself as he walked over and bumped the bottom of J.P's shoe with his knee. J.P. gave his Dad a small smile as he disagreed with whatever his brother was saying. Alfred tapped J.P. again and held his hand out for the phone. Gratefully, J.P handed it over with George still animatedly talking.

"Hiya Georgey!"

On the phone, hundreds of miles away in Massachusetts, George Foster Jones, Alfred's second son, groaned into the phone.

"Dad, why is J.P. such a little girl. He always runs to you whenever he can't win against one of us. It's seriously sickening and it really goes to show what French genes can do to our awesome American ones."

Alfred rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue in disapproval at Massachusetts. "Georgey, you will leave your brother alone. It's his birthday and I don't want any problems from you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll be good. But, seriously Dad, think about it, we could all go alligator hunting like Swamp People. I could so…"

"Bye-bye Georgey!"

With a punctuated finger, Alfred ended the call with his second son. J.P. was silently glaring into space as Alfred handed over the phone. He took it and hastily switched it to silent as the phone began to ring again.

Groaning in frustration, J.P. ran a palm across his eyes. "I hate my brothers."

Chuckling, Alfred stepped over and slid into the seat across from his son before reaching over to give his son's hand a reassuring pat. "Don't be like that. Somewhere, deep, deep, deep down inside your heart you know you love them despite all their ways."

J.P mumbled something into his hands that Alfred didn't exactly catch before snapping his eyes up to scan the empty counter behind them. "We're right before the lunch rush, we better hurry up and order before it gets packed. Whatcha want?"

"Surprise me."

J.P. ended up getting them both a Box Combo. Alfred used to guzzle down hamburgers and other junk food as often as he could, but thanks to the First Lady's newest health campaign he had taken to eating healthier. Of course, he still ate more food than the average human, but he replaced some of his hamburgers with vegetables and more chicken. He didn't completely give up his comfort food, but he knew he needed to take care of himself internally if he really wanted to be a hero.

Greedily, Alfred popped open the top on his Cane's sauce and dunked his chicken deep into the container. Biting into said chicken finger, Alfred watched as J.P. picked at his food, not eating a single bite. Swallowing his mouthful, Alfred nudged his son's Styrofoam plate.

"Did Georgey really get on your nerves? He's just messing with you because it's your birthday."

J.P. shook his head and pushed his food away. "Nah, that's not it. It's something else."

Alfred instantly thought back to his phone conversation with Francis from earlier in the day. He knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

"What?"

J.P. opened his mouth a few times and started to say something before falling completely silent. He reached up and pushed his blond hair out of his eyes as he pushed a French fry around on his plate.

Alfred took another bite of his chicken, waiting as patiently as he could for his son to talk. It was nearly killing him. Patience was never and would never be a strong point of his.

"Jean-Pierre Francis Jones, as amazing as I am, I'm not a mind reader. What's wrong?"

J.P. ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he'd picked up during World War I. He'd inherited Francis' wavy, blond hair and it constantly hung loosely around his face. His son took a deep breath before raising his bright blue eyes to Alfred's matching ones.

"I wanna know about 1812."

Alfred nodded and swirled one of his French fries around the sauce on his plate. "I figured as much."

J.P. blinked in surprise. "What? How'd you know?" Alfred raised his eyebrow at his son and the other rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Papa. He called you didn't he?"

Alfred nodded, "He may have called and mentioned that you called him, but that's beside the point. Why the sudden interest in 1812?"

"I don't know. Sammy mentioned at the last meeting that a lot of bad things happened around the time I was born and I just sort of realized that you had never really told me about it," J.P. looked away, "and it just bothered me for some reason."

The older blond leaned back against the booth and sighed. "1812 wasn't a bad year, just a difficult year. You were born, I got into another war with Arthur, he sort of kidnapped Nathan and George-"

"What!" J.P. interrupted in disbelief and sudden interest. Alfred could tell this wasn't what his son was expecting and it had him suddenly sitting on the edge of his seat, ready for the story of a lifetime. "He kidnapped Nathan and George! How?"

Alfred held a hand out to silence his son. "I said _sort of_ kidnapped Nathan and George. Look, it's a long story and," Alfred looked around at the rapidly crowding restaurant, "this isn't the place to talk about things like that."

"You'll tell me everything though, right?"

Alfred sighed and gave his son a tired smile. "All you had to do was ask."

J.P laughed excitedly as he grabbed both of their Styrofoam plates, ignoring the disgruntled 'Hey" from his father, before motioning for the door. "Come on! Let's go back to my house!"

Alfred laughed as he snatched back his plate of food and got up from his seat. "Fine, but you owe me dessert after this."

"But, it's my birthday!"

* * *

(Notes)

KLSU 91.1 is the actual radio handle for LSU's radio station. It's amazing, in my personal opinion, and my own rendition of the segment is fictional and not anywhere near as awesome.

As a student at LSU, we're taught the alma mater on the first day of orientation, but after that it's easily forgotten. It seems like everyone only knows the first line and the last. *puts on cool shades* We're cool like that.

Locket and Ceba (now known as Patrick F. Taylor) are halls at LSU. Locket is mostly Mathematics and Ceba is Business. Someone actually etched "the place where dreams die" onto the sign of Locket and Ceba is practically a maze. I went to the bathroom and got lost for ten minutes.

Dead Week is the week before finals when professors aren't supposed to have any assignments due that are worth more than 5% of the final grade. (Doesn't always happen)

It's my own personal headcanon that Alfred has a Blackberry instead of an Iphone. Personally, Iphones seem more for play and Blackberries are more business-y

Being a Louisiana native, I would like for it to be known that only a small percent speak like the people on Swamp People. Granted, I'm from north Louisiana and do use Cajun French words.

Mon fils a deux cent ans aujourd'hui – Roughly translates to "My son has 200 years, today". According to my French teacher, the French don't say "I'm such and such years old", it's "I have such and such years". Silly French, why so difficult?

C'est merveileux! – translates to "It is wonderful!

George Foster Jones = state of Massachusetts

Sammy (or Samuel Forrest Jones) = state of Delaware

Nathan ( or Nathaniel Flynn Jones) = state of Virginia


	2. Chapter 2

The response to this story simply amazed me. I couldn't have been more excited that people are actually taking an interest in this story. Thank you guys soon much! I hope you guys like this chapter, more Alfred-state interaction. And if there are any questions about any of the "Louisiana" things I put in here, just send me a pm or review, I'm getting better at answering those.

So to my anon readers:

Tavii: I actually had no idea that the Blackberry was a Canadian phone. You learn something new every day I guess. Now it has just become a part of my head canon that Matthew gave his brother the phone as a present. ;P

Kay: I have to admit that I love UsUk, but I'm really a fan of Anyone/Us (with the exception of China/Us, for some reason it doesn't appeal to me)

Remember, I'm trying to be a better writer, advice is much appreciated!

Warning: Explicit C-section

* * *

Chapter 2 : A Child is Born

* * *

The drive back to J.P's house seemed longer than it actually was.

Alfred was alone in his truck, J.P had his own car to drive back, and the nation felt so terribly lonely. With the windows rolled up tightly, radio off completely, and the temperature steadily rising, Alfred found himself with only his thoughts as company.

Really, it was an irritating situation.

Alfred had never been one to keep his own counsel and his own pressing silence only heightened his sudden irritation. This was exactly where his problem lied. He didn't understand what he was irritated at. It most definitely wasn't his son, nor was it the story he was going to tell.

If he was completely honest with himself, 1812 wasn't actually that bad of a year. Yes, he fought a war with Arthur, but compared to the more modern wars, 1812 was a cakewalk. If anything, the irritation stemmed from how complicated this story was going to be to tell.

Hell, complicated wasn't the word for the story Alfred needed to tell.

Not only did Alfred need to explain the War of 1812 and the impressment, but he had to explain J.P's own birth and conception in order for everything to make sense. Alfred ran a hand through his hair in frustration; he also couldn't leave out Matthew's involvement. He couldn't forget about his brother's strategic location for such an important story because in a lot of ways, Matthew's part was most important.

Truly, the entire situation made Alfred's brain pound within his skull, but he'd made a promise. He'd tell J.P everything he wanted to hear, everything he needed to hear, and some things he probably didn't want to hear.

* * *

When they both finally made it back to the house, J.P bounded up to his front door and ushered his father into the first door on his right. At first glance the room was bathed in black, but as soon as the lights clicked on Alfred realized he was looking at J.P's game room.

His immediate attention was drawn to the large, comfortable-looking couch in front of a huge entertainment center, but as J.P kicked off his shoes and beckoned him over, Alfred found himself looking at the decorated walls.

On top of the beige painted walls was a monument to nearly every sports team in Louisiana from high school level to national and international. J.P had dedicated this room as a shrine to the athletes that called his lands home.

It was enthralling to see the neat little plaques bearing the names of tiny little towns such as Bastrop, Slidell, Rayville, and Baskin. Tiny towns throughout Louisiana where sometimes all the people had was football or baseball and the thrill of the thought that maybe, _maybe_ this season would be the season their home team won state.

Alfred turned from the portion of the wall that looked to be dedicated to high school level sports to find the collegiate sports. Schools such as Grambling, Southeastern, Tulane, and University of Louisiana splashed against the beige back wall in a strange mix of green, black, and red. Of course, Louisiana State University was also there with a bird's eye view of Tiger Stadium plastered against the beige wall. Alfred gently rubbed a smudge of dirt off of the framed picture, his eyes taking in the pride and joy of LSU. The arena was huge, an estimated 93,000 football fans could fit inside that stadium on a single Saturday evening.

Beside that picture was one of him and J.P standing outside the student section entrance of the stadium with matching smiles on their faces. Alfred definitely remembered that game. Hell, the entire American football community remembered that game.

He very rarely got to visit his children on just a whim, but on that muggy October day in 1988 Alfred hopped into his truck and headed to Baton Rouge to watch LSU take on their rivals from Alabama, the Auburn Tigers.

Alfred remembered watching J.P. and Stanley, the state of Alabama, fight and bicker as the play clock ran down. With a grim outlook and two measly minutes left on the clock, it looked like Alabama would win the game. Alfred remembered how the losing Tigers kept on playing until they were down to the 4th down and no time on the clock. Then in a gutsy move, the quarterback threw the ball on the 4th down and the Tigers made the touchdown before going on to kick a field goal to win the game.

It was exhilarating to stand in the middle of 93,000 fans as they jumped, screamed and celebrated a much desired win. Even Stanley, though upset with the loss, couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement of the people. The Earthquake Game they called it, because according to the reports, the cheering registered on LSU's seismograph.

Alfred chuckled to himself as he remembered how hard it was to get his ears to pop after they left the stadium. The rest of the night he felt like he was walking around with a tin can on his head.

Moving further down the wall, Alfred saw framed pictures of the New Orleans Saints with their 2009 Superbowl championship trophy and even a few of the old hockey team, the Monroe Moccasins. Truly, this collection of Louisiana's sports history was something any museum would kill to get their hands on.

"Are you finished browsing?" Rolling his eyes, Alfred moved away from the wall and plopped down on the couch beside J.P. His son looked up at him, impatiently tapping his foot against the carpeted floor. "Well, get on with it!"

Alfred kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the couch, making sure to draw out the moment for as long as he could. Partially to piss his son off, but mostly to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. "Are you ready for the story of a lifetime?"

"Of course!" J.P's eyes were bright and curious, reminding Alfred of days when more than one little set of eyes crawled into his bed for a story.

"It's a long one."

"Dad, you're here for an entire week! Surely it's not that long!"

Chuckling lightly and accepting his own fate, Alfred nodded his head. "There were a lot of elements at work during 1812. It was a big year. Hell, even the years leading up to 1812 were big and complicated."

J.P blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Alfred worried his bottom lip before taking a deep, soul cleansing breath. "Let's start at the very beginning. For nearly two months, I didn't know who your father was."

"What?"

"You know," Alfred gave his son a pleading look, "that I don't know why you kids were born. No one does 'cause usually when a nation has a child, it's a sign that the nation is soon to die. With you guys though, it's different." Alfred looked a little lost for a moment before he opened his mouth and continued. "You kids are an anomaly of our kind. The land has always been there and I should have represented it all, but it didn't work out that way."

J.P. settled back against the edge of the couch, tucking his feet underneath him. "No one knows? Not even the older countries?"

Alfred shrugged, "Arthur has some theories about it being because my land was so divided by European powers. He said there might have been personifications of each of the territories that they simply never found. Of course, he also said it was because one personification alone couldn't handle the diversification that was happening on my lands. Either way it doesn't matter now."

"Okay, but how come ya didn't know who my papa was? I thought ya were with Papa during that time?"

"J.P.," Alfred sighed, "nations can't be monogamous all the time. We're pulled wherever our people and governments take us. You've experienced it before, or did you forget your episodes after Katrina?"

J.P flinched violently at the mention of Hurricane Katrina. Alfred knew that he hit a sore spot with his son and instantly regretted it. He didn't hesitate as he reached across the couch and pulled the teenager into his arms.

Katina took the entire Gulf Coast by storm, hopping across Florida and wrecking havoc on the Gulf States before making land fall at Louisiana's own shores.

God, Alfred remembered how difficult the days after Katrina were. How late the aid was to the area of New Orleans after the levees broke. How unorganized the evacuation was. How frustratingly slow FEMA's own response was. How the situation went from bad to worse seemingly overnight. Babies being raped in the Super Dome they screamed, men filling the streets with guns, anarchy declared. No help coming.

New Orleans burned and drowned all in the same few days.

J.P. hadn't evacuated. He lived in Baton Rouge, the most he got was Katrina's winds and rain, but he felt every single one of the things that happened to his largest city. He was connected to New Orleans. The city was his own window to the world; it had also been his capital at one time. His heart had been there and a part of it would always be within the city.

So when his people cried during those days, J.P. had cried too. When his people blamed the federal government, J.P. had blamed them too. He had fought Alfred so hard during those days, screaming at his father when aid wasn't getting there fast enough. He belittled the man's previous aid efforts to other countries before finally giving up hope that his people would be helped and hitching a ride with the National Guard into New Orleans.

After that, Alfred didn't see his son for nearly three months and when he did finally see him, the skin was peeling off of his feet. The wetlands were slowing eroding away. Katrina's coming had sped it up just a bit more. Alfred could remember wrapping his son's feet that first night in his Washington D.C. home and simply letting the state get the first real night's sleep he'd had in a while.

Of course, looking back on Katrina now, J.P. realized that his father had tried everything to hurry along the aid effort, but sometimes even the United States of America had to wait. Unfortunately, the waiting game cost lives.

"I remember."

Alfred buried his nose into the top of J.P.'s head, breathing in deeply the smell of his Old Spice shampoo. Now that his trip down memory lane was over, J.P. squirmed in his grasp, obviously torn between basking in his dad's attention and acting like an independent teenager. Alfred squeezed him one more time before letting him migrate back to his spot on the couch.

He cleared his throat before beginning again. "Anyway, so we're pulled wherever our governments and people take us. I supposed it's the downside to eternal youth." Alfred offered his son a small smile, which J.P. readily returned. "So, you have to understand that the land that would become yours traded hands quite a bit right before you were conceived."

Holding up two fingers, Alfred continued. "Spain and France both had claims to the Louisiana Territory, as I'm sure you know, but when my government informed me they wanted to buy the Port of New Orleans in the late 1790s, I assumed I'd just be gaining the city itself. While my politicians started talks with Spain, I started negotiations with Antonio."

J.P. grinned slyly, "Is 'negotiation' the diplomatic word for sex?"

Alfred pouted at his son. "Hush you, let me finish. Antonio and I did rendezvous together for a while, but while I was with him in the early 1800s, France regained the Louisiana territory." J.P opened his mouth to ask a question, but Alfred cut him off. "Mail was unreliable in those days. We didn't find things out until months later." J.P. opened his mouth again, but Alfred cut him off once more. "And yes, I was romantically involved with Francis at this time. He knew about Antonio." Alfred looked off away from his son with a smile spreading across his face. "We made an awesome threesome for a while there."

Blushing bright red and groaning, J.P. covered his face with his hands. "Dad, did you have to tell me that?"

Shrugging, Alfred grinned. "You wanted to know the _entire_ story. Anyway, Francis ended up pissing Antonio off and our threesome fell apart just about the same time I found out I was pregnant. And, like I said before, I didn't find out France was the country we bought the territory from until I was two months pregnant. At that point, I knew Francis was your father."

J.P. closed his eyes in thought, taking in everything his father had told him. "Okay, so Papa's my papa, what happened after that?"

"You were an absolute hellish fetus. I gained nearly fifty pounds. My body ached constantly. I didn't even know-" Alfred trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished. At one point in his pregnancy, he hadn't thought that the baby would make it. It was always a fear of his, especially after experiencing a miscarriage for the first time in 1784. The survival of the state depended on the ability of the settlers to survive and the Louisiana Territory had a bad record of not being able to keep settlers.

France's politicians knew that all too well when they were forced to bring prisoners to the territory whenever they owned it. American settlers coming into the Territory were met with a lot of opposite from the old Creole families, but they eventually got it right or at least close enough.

"Dad? You okay?"

Alfred shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine. Anyway, carrying you was harder than my previous pregnancies. It also didn't help that I was having Arthur problems during that time. Now, the War of 1812 was mostly because the British didn't fully keep their part of the agreement after the Revolution and they were taking American sailors from American ships."

J.P.'s blue eyes sparkled as he excitedly leaned forward. "Dad, I know the historical aspect behind all this. I want to know the real story of what happened to you and George and Nathan, not the United States. I wanna know my story, our story."

The American nation leaned back and nodded his head. "Okay, fine. Sit back and get ready. You were born in the early hours of the morning after three days of labor."

* * *

**April 1812**

* * *

It's long past dusk on the morning of April 30th and Alfred's been in labor for three days. He's weak with pain. All he can do was lie on his back and pray that the baby will decide it's ready to see the world. He can't even stand to take the little pieces of ice his oldest son Nathaniel has taken to feeding him every few hours. He can't even appreciate how much trouble his son was probably going through to keep the ice cold either. All he knew was that he's in pain and he needs to get the baby out of him as soon as possible.

A rather sharp kick to his insides coupled with an extra sharp contraction is enough to make the young nation grunt out in pain. Nearly instantly a set of footsteps scurry down the hall and stop outside his door.

There was a gentle knock and a worried voice asking if he was okay. Alfred couldn't even register which of his 17 children is outside the door. The pain was too much. It's never been this bad. The door opened and Alfred found himself looking at his oldest son. His son's bright green eyes are staring out at him in fear and worry.

Alfred noticed fairly quickly that he's also carrying a pail of steaming water. It's in that moment that Alfred realized how badly he wanted to soak his entire body in a large tub of steaming hot water. God bless his Nathaniel, his sweet Virginia, he knew how to take care of his father in such a condition.

The state moved across the room, lithe muscles carefully keeping the pail from sloshing any of the precious water onto the floor. He set it beside the bed before pulling a rag out of his back pocket and soaking it in the water.

"Dad," the boy, because he honestly doesn't look no older than 16, gently smoothed back the hair plastered to Alfred's forehead, "can you sit up?"

Drawing in a ragged breath, Alfred nodded his head. "Yeah, just help me."

With a little help, Alfred managed to sit up. His stomach looked grotesquely large in front of him and every so often flexed as the infant inside kicked up a storm at the movement. Alfred pressed a gentle hand against the mound and surprisingly, it calmed the baby down.

Looking at his stomach, he couldn't help but wonder what his newborn would look like. Obviously the child would have blue eyes, but would they be as blue as the summer sky or blue as a robin's egg? Would the child have Francis' light blond hair or Alfred's own dirty blond? Would the child be small or broad? The possibilities were endless for this little one.

Another thought was brought to Alfred's mind, what would the child's sex be? He'd been carrying the baby fairly low, but he'd also carried his last daughter low as well. Would it be yet another boy to add to his large list? The child certainly kicked with enough force to be a naughty little boy. Or would his little girls get their wish and get a little sister? He could see that one too because he'd craved chocolate and honey his entire pregnancy.

"How much longer is this going to go on?"

Alfred's eyes snapped up from his stomach to look into his son's own eyes. He shrugged. "I'm not female, so I have to take it out myself. I just don't want to risk injuring the baby by taking it out too early."

Nathan reached into the pail and rung out the rag before bringing it up to sponge sweat off his father's forehead. "You can't go on like this for much longer." Those green eyes widened a bit more in fear. "What if it's killing you?"

The American nation swatted his son away before taking the rag and placing it over his aching eyes. He'd had a headache pounding away behind his eyes for days. He tried to pretend it was just a normal headache and not the Indians attacking his settlements with British weapons. He removed the rag and tossed it into the bucket.

"It's not killing me." Alfred placed a hand on his engorged belly and patted it lovingly. "I can feel it, Nate. It's not going to be that much longer."

As if the baby echoed his sentiments, the kicking increased.

Nathan dropped onto the bed beside his father, "We received word from Francis today. He's on his way here to see the baby. He wants you to think over a list of names for the child."

Absentmindedly massaging his belly, Alfred held out a hand for the letter. The date was from months before so there was really no telling when Francis would show up. Lazily, Alfred read down the list of exceedingly foreign sounding names before deciding he disliked them all.

"Francis needs to get more creative than "Louis" or "Anne"."

Nathan chuckled as he picked up the paper and scanned it himself. "I like Lorraine and Madeline's a pretty name."

Alfred scrunched up his nose, "They're just not setting right with me. I don't think the baby agrees with them."

Suddenly, Alfred sucked in a deep breath as he felt the baby drop within him.

Nathan was back on his instantly, trying to force his father to lie down. Alfred was having none of it though. With a surprisingly strong grip, he removed his son's hands from his shoulders.

It was time. Adrenalin pumped through his veins, giving him back the strength he would need for this.

"Nathan, I need you to bring me the hunting knife out of the dresser. The key's in the bedside table. Also, open the dresser so I can see the mirror."

The boy stood there blinking before quickly moving to do what his father asked. With knife in hand, Nathan brought it back to him and waited.

"Good, now, get the medical box out from underneath the bed."

Nathan dropped to his knees and fished the box out. Alfred pretended not to notice how badly his son's hands were shaking as he passed the box over. With both items in hand and making sure every he needed was in the box, he turned to his son and pointed to the door.

"Go back to bed."

His son's eyes widened as he shook his head. "No way! You can't do this on your own. I need-"

Alfred interrupted with a nearly bark-like command. "I said bed."

The state of Virginia didn't need to be told twice, he made to leave the room, before stopping. With his long blond bangs hiding his eyes from his father, he turned back around. Squaring his shoulders and snapping his eyes up, Nathan shook his head.

"Dad, you need me. I just want to help you."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but a fresh wave of pain reminded him of the child inside of him wanting to come out.

"Fine, come over here and help me."

Reaching into the medical kit, Alfred pulled out a new bottle of iodine and rubbed it against the expanse of his stomach. Though he was a nation and wouldn't likely get an infection, it was better safe than sorry. He reached again into the kit and pulled out a roll of leather.

He looked up at his pale son and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm going to do most of the cutting, but I need you to make sure the baby is okay. Got it?"

Nathan nodded. Once he saw his son understood, Alfred shoved the leather between his teeth and bit down hard. He'd done this particular 'operation' seventeen times already, but the pain of cutting through his own skin never got any easier to ignore. For just a few moments he cursed whatever deity gave him the ability to have children without having a practical exit for the child.

Gritting his teeth against the leather and steadying his hand, Alfred placed the tip of the knife against his skin before gently pushing it through layers of skin and fat. Big, wet tears of pain slipped down Alfred's face as he forced himself to not scream. He couldn't have his other children wake up. He only turned to look at his son, who was very silent and pale, before going back to work.

Feeling a little dizzy as he watched blood leak from the wound, Alfred took a deep breath through his nose and gently pulled the top of his stomach upwards. It stung harshly causing him to flinch violently. More blood spewed from the wound, making it hard for Alfred to grasp his stomach. He suddenly pushed the leather out of his mouth with his tongue.

"Na-Nate, help me."

Nathan moved closer and kneeled beside the bed. "What do you need me to do?"

"Hold," Alfred had to stop and grit his teeth against the onslaught of pain, "hold my stomach up."

The state nodded and with a firm hand held up the massive dome. He made sure to keep the vulnerable flesh away from the sharp knife below.

Looking up into the mirror across from him, Alfred guided the knife back into the pink flesh and cut back another layer of yellow fat. Fairly quickly he can see the whitish amniotic sac.

Taking another deep breath, the bleeding nation carefully poked the sac. It broke nearly instantly with fluid pouring out of the hole in his stomach. With blood soaking his bed clothes to his elbows, Alfred reached into himself and pulled out his newest baby.

Lovingly, he laid the pale and messy baby on the bed in front of him. Making sure to gently rub the child's nose and pat his back. "It's a boy" is Alfred's first thought as little Louisiana took a rattling breath before beginning to weakly cry.

A few minutes later, he pulled out the afterbirth.

Sitting back up straight, Alfred looked over to his eldest, who was still tightly holding onto his father, and motioned to the baby. "Go grab a blanket, a cloth diaper, and milk."

Nathan nodded and quickly left.

Alfred's bleeding was slowing down, the perks of being a nation, but he still needed to close the wound. As much as he just wanted to cuddle with the mewling infant, Alfred knew he could not. Gently, to not jostle the bed too much, Alfred reached back into the medical kit and pulled out the tools for stitching himself back up. This was always the easiest part and it took no time to close his wound and wrap gauze around his stomach.

By the time he's through, little Louisiana has gone silent. Alfred looked down at the naked infant, shivering against the soiled bed sheets. The baby let out a stronger cry, letting his father know how uncomfortable he felt in this new world.

Tenderly, Alfred picked his newborn up and cradled him against his chest. The baby squirmed as Alfred leaned down and pressed a kiss against the sticky forehead.

"Hey there little guy," Alfred softly whispered against the blood dyed hair, "happy birthday. You gave Daddy quite the trouble these past few months." The baby gurgled in response and despite how tired he was, Alfred smiled softly. "That's okay, though, you're so cute Daddy's going to forgive you."

"Dad, I've got the stuff. I even grabbed a bottle."

Alfred turned to give his eldest son a tired smile. "Thanks Nathan. Fix it for me, will ya?" Turning his attention back to the dozing baby, Alfred nudged his head towards the pail of water still on the floor beside the bed. "Is the water still warm?"

Nathan placed the baby items on the bed before reaching down and checking the temperature. He nodded, "Yeah."

"Hand me the rag, I need to clean him off."

While Nathan was getting the rag, Alfred reached for the knife he'd used to cut himself and removed Louisiana's umbilical cord. The infant let out a sharp cry of discontent with Alfred shushing him gently.

"Here Dad."

Alfred thanked his son as he softly scrubbed the amniotic fluid and blood from his newest state's body. All too soon, Alfred could see that his son has light blond hair that looked like it would curl when dry. With the baby clean, the tired father grabbed the cloth diaper from the end of the bed and wrapped it securely around his son. He also grabbed the blanket and laid it on the bed to swaddle the newborn in.

Before he wrapped his son up, though, Alfred cradled the newborn in his arms. The baby squirmed and let out a sharp cry at the sudden movement, only to be shushed gently by his father. Alfred took a few moments to look over the newborn, hanging onto the last bits of his energy for just a few moments alone with his new son. Counting all ten toes, all ten fingers, even brushing a finger over the adorable little nose to see those eyes open for the first time. Cobalt blue eyes stared back at him for only a moment before closing. Louisiana grunted a few times before flailing his arms, hitting Alfred's chest.

Alfred chuckled, "What? Mad at Daddy already? I just wanna see your pretty blue eyes. Come on sweetie, show Daddy those eyes."

Once more Alfred stroked the baby's nose to see his eyes. Only this time, Louisiana whined sharply, eyes opening widely only to fill with tears. Frowning, and feeling just a tiny bit guilty for agitating his newborn, Alfred cupped the back of his son's head and lifted him to rest his ear against Alfred's own heartbeat.

It soothed the infant. As did the affectionate way Alfred trailed a soothing hand up and down his baby's spine, cooing nonsensical words into the shell of his ear.

"Dad, the bed's a mess. You need to move."

Alfred blinked as if he just remembered his eldest was there. He looked down at the bed and nodded. "I have a cot set up in his room" Suddenly, Alfred blinked rapidly, his vision fading. His adrenalin had finally run out. "Nate, I need you to take him. I'm gonna pass out."

Nathan was across the room in less than a second to take his brother into his arms just as Alfred's grip slipped. The jostling and loss of comfort startled the infant, sending him into a loud fit. With his Dad down for the count, Nathan reached for the milk bottle. Patiently rubbing the nipple against his crying brother's mouth, Nathan waited for him to take it.

All seemed lost for a few minutes. The newborn obviously was not happy with being held by his brother. Just when it seemed like Nathan would have to simply let the newborn cry himself to sleep, a knock sounded throughout the house. With the crying baby in his arms, Nathan opened the front door.

"Bonjour! Oh mon Dieu! Is this my baby?"

The child was taken from him nearly instantly as the Frenchman cooed and awed over the still crying child. The bottle was snatched from Nathan's hand and popped into his brother's mouth with surprising expertise. Silence rang once more.

Nathan shook his head at the sight and went back to his father's room. All he needed to do now was figure out how he was going to move his father to that cot.

* * *

(Notes)

I'll get to this later, but Louisiana, more specifically the Mississippi River, was a very important target during the War of 1812. The British wanted to gain control of the Mississippi River and possibly New Orleans. 'Cause New Orleans has always been a huge port.

The Earthquake Game, though there has been no factual evidence, it was widely told that the roaring crowd set off the seismograph.

My personal head cannons about the states are complicated and simple, all at the same time. There used to be a saying before the Louisiana Purchase that if they purchased so much land the land would be too big to govern. I feel like this is the reason the states were 'born' and technically if you look at the American government, the states are their own little countries underneath a parent one.

Hurricane Katrina happened in 2005. It was perhaps the biggest mess I've ever experienced and its repercussions are still felt today. There was a lot of anger and animosity among the people from the areas, such as New Orleans or Slidell or any of the other areas that were greatly affected, towards the federal government. I'm going to touch back on this later, mostly because I feel like this situation is something that shaped J.P's character.

Louisiana's wetlands are slowly disappearing every year. Which is horrible, not only because of the wildlife there, but because the wetlands are a buffer between the coast and any hurricane that comes our way.

Both France and Spain controlled Louisiana at one point in time. In a serious turn of irony, the iconic French Quarter of New Orleans actually has more Spanish style building and architecture than French. (It goes France, Spain, France, U.S)

The American government only wanted the Port of New Orleans, the extra land they got was just extra and brought about the era of Manifest Destiny.

My head cannon also states that the personifications use stuff such as sex to get on other nations good sides, to persuade the nation. So, if the American people wanted New Orleans, Alfred was more than willing to spread his legs.

Once France got the Louisiana territory back from Spain, they really kind of pissed Spain off because they sold it, but Napoleon needed the money for his own adventures in Russia.

The miscarriage I refer to is the state of Franklin. It lasted for a very short time, only about 4 years.

France had a very hard time keeping settlers inside the territory of Louisiana. For one thing, they didn't bring over sustainable people, like families or craft workers. They eventually took to carting prisoners to fill the failing colony.

Old wives tale states that if during the pregnancy you carry low, the baby's a boy. Carry high, the baby's a girl. Completely false by the way.

Another old wives tale states that if you crave sweet things then you're having a girl.

Iodine was founded in 1811

Stanley Farris Jones - State of Alabama

Nathaniel Flynn Jones - State of Virginia


	3. Chapter 3

**2012**

"So, you just passed out?"

Alfred rolled his eyes at his son in annoyance. "I had just sliced my stomach open. Forgive me for showing weakness."

"You're forgiven," J.P quipped as he grinned excitedly. "What happened after that?"

Alfred batted his hand wildly in the direction of his son's head. "Brat, give me a minute. Francis showing up was a huge surprise whenever I woke up the next morning."

"Why? Papa has always tried to visit his children. He loves children."

"J.P.," Alfred sighed, "Francis was having problems in his country. I'm sure you know of the French Revolution and the political aftermath. He had been having a few difficult years and I hadn't anticipated him being there at all. He'd ignored my letters in favor of following Napoleon around and fighting with Arthur."

"But, Dad, he was just doing his-"

"I know he was just doing his job, but I was pregnant and hormonal. I didn't care. I just wanted someone who wasn't my kid to take care of me. Someone to care about my problems." Alfred smiled softly, "Francis was good at that and he'd spoiled me with my previous pregnancies."

"Didn't you say he sent you a letter, though?"

"One letter, J.P., all he sent was one letter with a list of names that he approved of. I know it's unfair, but I had been expecting more from him. Arthur used to do that to me and it really pissed me off that Francis would do it whenever he knew how much it upset me."

J.P. swallowed awkwardly, trying to not look uncomfortable at the mention of Arthur. He knew the man and his father still had some sort of relationship going on. It was truly amazing how his father could care for the man who'd hurt him so much. Granted, the same could be said of Arthur. J.P. wasn't one to ignore the fact that his father was selfish. He knew it was a trait that ran deep in his father. It was a trait that both protected his children and alienated the world outside the states, because if it ever came down to it, Alfred would protect his children before he'd even think about protecting the other nations.

"Look, J.P, let's not dwell on this. Let's move on."

J.P. nodded his head and settled against the couch cushions once more.

**1812**

"Dodo, l'enfant do,

L'enfant dormira bien vite

Dodo, l'enfant do

L'enfant dormira bientôt"

The soft French floating into the darkened bedroom startled the young man sleeping restlessly on the old cot, but he did not fully awaken. Alfred was exhausted. Even his cowlick, which usually refused to be tamed, appeared to be weighed down with the man's exhaustion.

Quickly, the blond attempted to slip back into sleep; to catch just a few more minutes of precious rest before the newest addition to his household decided to make himself known. Well, that was the plan until a small gust of wind passed into the bedroom as someone walked by the opened door of the room. With the cot being setup along the wall closest to the door, the young man felt the chilly gust head-on causing a full body shiver to shake the creaking cot. Alfred's nose peeked from underneath the coarse wool blankets and scrunched up cutely as he tightened his grip on the grey blankets wrapped around his broad frame. Just when he stopped shivering and found his warmth again, another gust of wind entered the room as the mysterious person came back by the door. This time, the young man blinked himself awake to reveal a pair of sleepy, sky blue eyes to the darkened room.

Groaning, Alfred gently and slowly sat up, trying not to upset the bandages plastered along his lower abdomen. He had forgotten how much energy having a child took out of him and how exhausted he was for days after the child's birth. With the same gentleness as before, he pressed a hand against the bandages and was rewarded with a spike of white, hot pain erupting behind his eyes. Grimacing, Alfred slowly lowered himself back against the cot. The cot itself was uncomfortable and did nothing for his aching back, but his bed was covered in blood and other byproducts of birth making the cot his only viable option. Unless, of course, he wanted to spend two hours heating water for a bath. The time spent preparing a warm bath just simply was not an option for the exhausted father and he refused to take a cold one. He'd just ignore the blood clinging to the hair on his legs.

Letting his eyes slip close again, the blond deeply sighed and snuggled the best he could into the warmth his blankets provided. His mind wandered in those last few minutes of full consciousness. If he really wanted that bath he could always ask one of his older children to heat the water. They loved helping good ole Dad; maybe he could play the guilt card and remind them of all the times he ran hot baths for them while they were sick. The young man smiled to himself and nodded happily at his ingenious plan. Tired, achy, and just a little bit relieved that his newborn child was not up and screaming for food yet, Alfred drifted back into an uneasy sleep. He couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but he knew something was not right in his house.

"Dodo, l'enfant do,

L'enfant dormira bien vite

Dodo, l'enfant do

L'enfant dormira bientôt"

Those blue eyes snapped opened a second time as he caught the louder sounds of a lullaby being sung in the next room over. A slight bit of panic settled itself in Alfred's chest as he realized that the lullaby was coming from his baby's room. Mindful of his bandages and of keeping as silent as possible, he gently got off the cot and limped over to the sturdy oak armoire to pull out the sharp hunting knife he kept wedged between his boots for such occasions.

With the knife firmly grasped in his hand, he shuffled out of his bedroom and into the candle illuminated hall. Trying his hardest to not alert his children or the intruder to his presence, the blond peered into the newly furnished bedroom that he provided for his newborn. A sigh of relief passed through his lips just as a twinge of embarrassment appeared upon his cheeks as he realized who exactly was in the room. He should have known as soon as he heard the soft French who the person was.

"You scared me half to death Francis."

Shaking his head at his forgetfulness, Alfred reached over and placed the knife on the tall shelf that housed the newborns cloth diapers and unused bottles before turning his attention back to the man cradling his son.

The Frenchman, with his long blond hair elegantly pulled back to the nape of his neck and tied with a blue ribbon, was softly singing to the newborn infant curled up in his arms.

"You received my letter, yes?

Francis stopped his singing, but didn't take his eyes off the newborn.

Alfred scoffed as he leaned against the doorway, "Of course I did, but I didn't know when you were getting here." He glared a little at the other man. "All you really did was give me a list of names, not even a serious time of arrival."

"Well, you know how unreliable the post is. For now, though, let's forget about such negative things and focus on this gorgeous child. He has my nose and my cheekbones, but he's definitely going to have your strong jaw."

Alfred rolled his eyes, but he had to admit that Francis was right. They made a sweet picture together, one only disrupted when the man slowly turned to lock eyes with the teenager propped against the edge of the door frame.

"Alfred, _cher_, sit down before you pass out. You're as pale as a ghost." The man gasped loudly as his eyes zeroed in on the slowly reddening bandages across Alfred's abdomen. "Look at you; you've torn a stitch. Sit down this instant." The man turned back to the infant in his arms and gave him one more gentle sway before softly kissing the downy curls lying against the child's forehead as he laid the child in the bassinet. "Let Papa go take care of _Mére_."

Alfred settled himself in the antique rocking chair with a frustrated sigh. "Fuck. I must have pulled a stitch when I set the knife on the shelf." He looked up and glowered at the long haired man, as if he just caught what the other man called him. "I am not his mother, Francis. I have a fucking cock."

Francis only chuckled as he walked over to the frowning nation and bent down to gently unravel the blood soaked bandages. "Shush, impressionable ears are in the room."

Alfred only glared harder but eventually had to close his eyes as the room began to spin. The bandages were pulling at the stitches embedded into his skin and it hurt enough to make him feel sick. He quickly swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise from his stomach and only barely managed to not lose what little food he had as the pain became more intense. When he finally was able to control his breathing enough to force the bile to stay in his stomach, Alfred opened his eyes to watch Francis gently wipe the drying blood away from his skin. Crystal blue eyes met with sky blue as Francis frowned at the shoddy workmanship of the stitches. "Did you stitch this yourself?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow at the man kneeling between his legs as he snorted. "Who else was I supposed to call? A human doctor? I would become nothing but an experiment to them, as would my children. You? You're too busy with your own problems fighting with the rest of Europe. I'm actually surprised you showed up at all to see your son." The bitterness in his voice is hard to mask and Francis hears it loud and clear. "I have to be the one to take care of myself and my children. I cannot rely on anyone else."

The French nation's blue eyes fluttered close to hid the sadness and worry he felt for the young man in front of him, hell, he felt like he couldn't even call Alfred a young man when he looked like nothing more than a lost little boy. "Oh, mon chaton, you've always been so headstrong and stubborn. You've torn a stitch, but the bleeding has stopped. Everything else seems to be healing just fine. Do you want me to fix it?"

Alfred shook his head, "No, just bandage it again. If it's no longer bleeding then it won't take long for it to heal fully. I'm surprised it's not already healed. I probably shouldn't have moved so soon afterwards, but I needed to make sure Louisiana was fine."

Francis smiled despite the pure weary that emitted from the exhausted teen. He reached over and gently petted the younger nation's hair, smoothing it away from the sweaty face. "Yes, babies are vulnerable and need to be taken care of, but mon ange, you need to take care of yourself too. What if instead of me there would have been someone else? You would have passed out from blood loss and little Louisiana would have been lost to you."

Alfred tried to pretend that the thought of Louisiana being taken from him was preposterous, but he knew better. Arthur was eyeing the New Orleans port, eyeing the whole of the Mississippi. What better way to gain control than to snatch the defenseless personification?

Shaking his head of those thoughts, Alfred turned back to Francis. "Don't say stuff like that."

"Mon ange, the threat is real."

"I wouldn't have let that happen and you know it Francis." Alfred looked away in thought for a little while before looking back into the older nation's eyes. "Plus, Nathan and George are here, they would have heard the commotion."

Light laughter filled the room as the French nation nodded. "Of course, how could I forget the victorious Virginia and mighty Massachusetts? They were quite the forces to be reckoned with during the Revolution, really makes you see their parentage. They both remind me so much of Arthur when…"

"Francis, stop."

Francis did stop, but he did not stop looking down at the teenager with pity. No matter whose bed Alfred climbed himself into there were always lingering feelings for his first love. Of course, Alfred didn't know it, but Arthur also had lingering feelings for the boy as well. There was just too much bad blood between the two of them, too much anger and hostility between the two nations and without an open line of communication that hostility would remain.

"I apologize, I will not make mention of him again. For now, let's go downstairs and get you some food into your stomach." Francis held out a hand for Alfred. "You're still terribly thin, have you been eating?"

Alfred rolled his eyes as he took the offered hand. "What is it with you and food?"

Francis laughed, louder than before pulling the younger nation into the hallway, "Cher, good food makes everything better and you know how much I love to cook. I haven't had someone to cook for in ages. In fact, I'll even make your favorite, crêpes!"

"Papa?"

Francis and Alfred turned to see two little blonde haired girls, one about four-years-old and the other about two-years-old, peering from between the legs of a shaggy haired sixteen-year-old boy. This young man though, had light brown hair with smiling blue eyes.

"Dad? Are you okay?"

The sixteen-year-old, with his voice just barely cracking, walked over and gently brushed his hand against the bandages. Alfred smiled softly as he reached up and ran his hand through the hair of his second born, his mighty Massachusetts. "I'm fine George, I'm perfectly fine." Alfred peered around George to wave happily towards two of his little girls. "Hey sweethearts, were you two good for Georgey?"

The oldest one nodded happily before skipping over and attempting to hug her daddy's leg, George, with his brown hair falling into his blue eyes, carefully scooped her up and prevented her from reaching him. "Adelaide, Dad's just had a baby. You can't go running into him like that. You'll hurt him."

Sweet little Adelaide with her golden blonde hair falling in waves down the middle of her back clung to her older brother. Bright blue eyes filled with tears as her lower lip trembled. "I sorry daddy!"

Francis nearly melted as he released Alfred's hand and reached to take his first born daughter out of George's arms. "Oh Papa has missed you, my sweet, sweet Adelaide." He blinked in surprise as he felt a solid figure bump into his legs and wrap little arms as tightly around his legs as they could go. Francis grinned even wider and reached down to pull his second daughter into his arms. "My beautiful Jacqueline, look how much you have grown!"

Little Jacqueline looked no older than two-years-old, but she knew her Papa. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and snuggled into his shoulder as he pressed a gentle kiss to the loose blonde curls messily decorated with red and blue ribbons.

As the little reunion went on, George moved closer to his father with worry still etched in his eyes. "Dad? The baby?"

Alfred grinned as he slowly tilted his head towards the baby's room. "You've got a new little brother, healthy, happy, and thankfully still asleep. After while I'll introduce him to the family, for now, go wake up your brothers and sisters. Francis has offered to make breakfast."

"Okay, do you want me to grab you a shirt?"

Looking down at himself and thinking back to the children, he shook his head. "No, I'll get it. You go wake up your siblings."

"Yes sir."

()

Thirty minutes, a shirt, and nineteen places at the large wooden table later, the Jones's family plus Francis sat down to a buffet of food. There was everything from the crêpes Alfred craved with nearly every pregnancy to the exotic new food the French nation loved trying out on new people.

Alfred looked around the table and gently smiled at his children. He knew the older ones had been worried about him. This last pregnancy had taken its toll on his body, not only was it a hard pregnancy, but there was a lot of trouble brewing between him and Arthur. Alfred shook his head, and pushed those thoughts out of his head. He promised himself he'd try to never bring such troubles to his dinner table; this was the time for his family to get his full, undivided attention.

"Why don't we say Grace? Gabe? You want to say it?"

Gabriel folded his hands in front of him, closed his deep green eyes and bowed his head 'til the top of his messy wheat colored hair touched the tips of his knuckles, before beginning. Alfred smiled at his most fragile son, his sweet little Maryland who looked so much like the perfect mix of both him and Arthur. At only fourteen-years-old, Gabriel was in that awkward age where he despised being known as the 'most sensitive of the boys' and tried his hardest to seem tougher than he actually was. Gabe thought he was keeping it a secret, but Alfred knew about the training sessions his son was receiving at the Annapolis Naval Academy. He just chose to ignore it for the boy's sake.

Right beside Gabe was the ever fidgeting Christopher. With his spiky, light brown hair and deep blue eyes Chris was the family's adventurer. He absolutely hated staying in one place for too long and sitting still for prayer was nearly torture for the personification of Rhode Island. Being the shortest member of the family, Chris loved to prove himself to be 'larger than life' and loved high places that towered over the world. Usually Alfred had to get his son out of too tall trees at least twice a week and God forbid the fourteen-year-old boy got bored enough to practice his acrobatics.

His next child with perpetually windswept dark blond hair and beautiful hazel eyes was the fifteen-year-old Miles, also known as New Hampshire. Miles was about as excitable as a new puppy and looked nothing like Arthur or Alfred. His tall, lanky son that acted first and thought later and sometimes never even truly thought about the consequences. The same son that declared himself independent of his father a whole six months before the Declaration of Independence was sign. Despite this, one look in those hazel eyes and anyone can see the good intentions there.

Thomas, or Connecticut, sat quietly beside Miles and silently fiddled with the glasses slipping down his nose. Thomas is Alfred's quiet bookworm. He'd rather spend all day sitting in the library with a book than playing around outside. He's a sweet boy, but finds it hard to relate to his brothers. He's only fourteen, but sometimes Alfred swears he acts like an old man. Almost as if Tommy can feel Alfred's eyes on him, he looks up and grins at his father, causing his blue eyes to twinkle.

Alfred winked at him before watching his two oldest sons, seventeen-year-old Nathaniel and sixteen-year-old George, Virginia and Massachusetts respectively. They're nearly polar opposites and really, that was his and Arthur's fault. Nathan, being Virginia, with his light green eyes and light blond hair was Arthur made over. He adored Arthur and Arthur adored him to the point of playing favorites. George, on the other hand, with his sky blue eyes and wheat colored hair was Alfred's exact copy, right down to his own Nantucket. Even their personalities a clash, Nathan honestly missed Arthur as his father, maybe not as his 'Mother Country' but defiantly as his father. George did not. He hated the man and promised to never love him again. It saddened Alfred, but George refused to talk about it.

Turning away from the two brothers, his eyes ran back down the table to rest on the other side of Gabe where his first child with the Netherlands sat meticulously arranging the silverware on his plate. Samuel, the first state of Delaware, was a picky child in everything from food to cloths. It frustrated Alfred to no end that his fourteen-year-old son must have his pale blonde hair a certain way before he agreed to leave the house. With a smile, Alfred gently reaches over and nudges Sammy's plate, upsetting the silverware. Brown eyes glare playfully back at his father before going back to ignore the prayer.

Rolling his eyes at the child, Alfred turns his attention to his only set of twins, this pair also fathered by the Netherlands, ten-year-old Abel and Nicholas, New Jersey and New York, respectively. Alfred loved having twins, he really did, but these two were difficult to manage sometimes. It was hard to tell them apart, especially because they both had long, honey blond hair and blue eyes, usually Alfred could only tell them apart when they opened their mouths. Abel, the older of the two, was a very blunt and sarcastic child. His mouth got him in trouble more often than not and no amount of soap or spankings seemed to curb the boy's tongue. Nicky was a gambler. He loved making bets and taking risks. He also refused to stop and always found a way to bet against everyday things, like right now as the boy as trying to bet James and Edward over how long Gabe's prayer was going to go on.

Alfred picked up a small piece of bread and softly tossed it at Nicolas's head, causing James and Edward, better known as North and South Carolina, to have to stifle their laughter into their napkins. Despite their states being named like twins, James and Edward were not twins. James, North Carolina, is a twelve-year-old dark blond with deep green eyes. James is also missing a finger, Alfred assumes it's symbolic of the missing Roanoke colony, but he doesn't dwell too much on that. James is Alfred's perfect example of 'Dad's little helper' and never strays far from Alfred's side. Edward, on the other hand, with his wheat blond hair and clear blue eyes, wants nothing more to work with his hands in the fields. At ten-years-old, he loves nothing more than getting his hands dirty in the soil of his state of South Carolina.

Turning his head to look at the opposite side of the table, Alfred's eyes landed on his last child with the Netherlands, eight-year-old Luke, also known as Pennsylvania. He loved his pale haired child, but Luke was a difficult child to deal with, especially at night. Somewhere along the way his son had developed an abnormal fear of the dark, nothing Alfred did could get the child to drop the fear and usually the only way those deep brown eyes would close in sweet sleep was while he was sleeping next to Alfred.

Right beside Luke sat Anthony, Alfred's six-year-old blond haired, blue eyed menace. Anthony, or Georgia, was perhaps the most troublesome child Alfred ever had. Currently the boy was munching on some of the baguette instead of listening to the prayer. Anthony loved pushing Alfred's buttons, but after being punished he would sweetly curl up into his Dad's lap and snuggle with him, pushing out all the things he'd done that day. Arthur, of course, had never been so forgiving with Georgia, more than once Alfred walked in on Arthur canning the boy for his offenses and sending him up to his room without supper. Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he tried to will those images away, he believed in disciplining children, but sometimes Arthur took it too far with Anthony.

Normally, Adelaide and Jacqueline would be seated next to Anthony, but today the two little girls were firmly settled in their Papa's lap. Four-year-old Adelaide, Alfred's first daughter was the personified state of Vermont. She's Alfred's tomboy, loving to climb trees and play in the dirt instead of sitting inside with pretty dresses on. Jacqueline, better known as Ohio, on the other hand, is Alfred's little girly-girl. She's rather spend all of her time trying on pretty dresses than playing outside with her sister. It's thanks to this little girl that Alfred is considered a master at fixing hair; she never likes to keep her hair style the same. She's such a high maintenance kind of girl, mentally Alfred chuckles to himself, she's so much like France it's not even funny.

Alfred's final two children at the table are settled on either side of him. Four-year-old Charlotte, Arthur's only daughter, sits stiffly beside him. With her straight blond hair and bright green eyes, she's the adorable personification of Kentucky, but thanks to Arthur she's a tiny bit spoilt. Arthur lavished gifts on his daughter in hopes of winning Alfred back, but since Arthur refused to discipline her, Alfred was left to handle controlling a daughter that believed she deserved better than everybody else. Don't get him wrong, Alfred loved his daughter, but she was so prissy, so much like Arthur, it wasn't funny.

His final little girl, three-year-old Isabel, a sweet dark haired brunette with the brightest blue eyes smiles happily beside him as she mumbles her own prayer along with Gabe. Isabel, Tennessee, his only child by Spain, is an overly sunny child with a bright smile, but a slight potty mouth. Once Alfred let Isabel meet with Spain and South Italy, Bel came back with quite a few colorful words, Alfred was not amused.

Gabe finished the prayer just about that time, leaving Alfred to smile gently at his son. "Thank you Gabe, that was beautiful."

A snort came from the end of the table. "Yeah, but was it long enough? I'm pretty sure I aged a year."

Gabe blushed and ducked his head as Alfred glared down at Abel. "Abe, keep that up and you'll be sent to your room. Apologize to Gabriel."

Abel rolled his eyes and sighed. "Sorry Gabriel that your prayer was long enough to put me to sleep."

Alfred sighed deeply, "Abel, go to your room."

Abel stood up, brown eyes widening in disbelief. "Dad! I apologized to him."

"You also did it in a sarcastic and hurtful way, go to your room. You know the consequences."

Seething, Abel stood up and stomped up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door as he went. Almost instantaneously, a shrill cry floated downstairs. Alfred groaned as Francis chuckled. "Are you sure that one's not Angleterre's child?"

"Shut it Francis. You guys go on and eat; I'm going to deal with Louisiana."

**2012**

_Buzz…buzz…buzz…buzz_

The sound of his phone buzzing snapped Alfred back to the present.

"Phone's ringing."

"I'm aware." Alfred groaned as he tried to follow the sound of the buzzing to his phone. Finding it stuffed between the couch cushions, he quickly snatched it up and shouted into the phone. "Hello?"

A distinctly British voice could be heard on the other line, "I need you to come get me."

Alfred could see J.P. roll his eyes from across the couch, he flashed his son an apologetic smile, "Arty, where are you?"

"Baton Rouge Airport. If you're going to be here, then I'm going to be here."

Alfred could honestly say a spike of anger welled in his chest as he heard Arthur. Everyone knew that no one got between him and his kids. He almost furiously yelled at the man, but J.P. grabbing his keys from his pocket and moving to the door stopped him.

"Alfred? Alfred? Are you there?"

"Yeah," Alfred answered halfheartedly, "yeah, be there in a few." With that, Alfred disconnected the call and turned to his son, "you okay?"

J.P. sighed and moved towards the door, "It's not like I don't know that you're fucking him. We all know."

Alfred grimaced as he stood and walked behind his son, "That's not the problem. It's supposed to be just us."

The younger man shrugged, "Well, look on the bright side; I'll get his point of view on everything."

For some reason, that idea did not settle right within Alfred's stomach.


End file.
